Standing on high above the wild foam
frozen, forsaken her heart all alone.
Tempest and turmoil as storm clouds augment
build up new billows of dark cold dissent.

Lather and froth the torrents whip up
creating the spume of churn offered up,
a chalice to soothe the unending sadness
beckons to sip and remove all her madness.

Below in the chaos another lost soul
chilled in abandoned oblivious cold.
Disorder encircles consuming him all
relentlessly beaten in ensuing squalls.

Their tears become one with the deluge of spray
if only the pain would so wash away
the typhoons and gales would then disappear,
within them the answers would then become clear.

She stands above him and he stands below
each of them sharing a common sad sorrow.
Lost in self pity and a loveless false lie
belief in that any day is a good day to die.